


Lonely Hearts

by Charliem2107



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Animated Series, DCU, Justice League & Justice League Unlimited (Cartoons), Superman - All Media Types, Wonder Woman - All Media Types
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, bruce is a hopeless romantic, slightly ooc?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 07:08:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29680272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charliem2107/pseuds/Charliem2107
Summary: Bruce has a history of heartbreak and each time he says never again. Just when he's given up he might find someone that can love him. Or they find him.Or, 5 times Bruce's heart was broken and the 1 time it wasn't.
Relationships: Andrea Beaumont/Bruce Wayne, Bruce Wayne/Original Female Character(s), Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne, Diana (Wonder Woman)/Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	Lonely Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm a bit sick of DC making Bruce sad, usually having something to do with his relationships. I refuse to believe that Bruce needs to be existentially depressed to be Batman (looking at you Selina!).
> 
> I also feel like there's always something a little bit off with his romantic relationships in canon. They're either toxic, unhealthy or abandoned because of his mission or the other person's insecurities. I just find it a little bit strange that a character like Bruce, orphan-collector professional, doesn't have someone stable in his life.
> 
> So, I gave him one. I made my first ever original character not give a shit that he's Batman or Bruce Wayne. They actually think it's pretty great!
> 
> Enjoy x

**Andrea**

Bruce blames himself for the first time his heart broke. He blames the fact that he was young, stupid and foolhardy. But he couldn’t help it, Andrea Beaumont was the most beautiful person he’d seen. Sure, he’d seen some really pretty things in his twenty years; blue-green waterfalls, expansive golden deserts, floating lilies on clear lakes. But she was something else. Burnt orange hair falling behind her ears, ice blue eyes under arching dark eyebrows with crimson red lips.

They met while visiting their respective parents. This would have been totally normal had they not met at Gotham Cemetery standing by their parents graves. He had overheard her lamenting about her past week to her mother. She was vibrant and loud and everything he never allowed himself to be when his own parents died. Bruce himself felt inexplicably drawn to her. Then, he did something he never thought he would do and approached her.

Their whirlwind romance was something out of a novel and everything Bruce thought a relationship should be. Batman was a distant memory and the ring he gave Andrea was his future. But since this was such a fictional romance out of a stupid novel, something had to go wrong. She left. She sent the ring back and he never saw her again.

Bruce said never again.

**Diana**

Bruce blames himself for the second time his heart broke. He blames himself for not paying attention. But he couldn’t help it.

Although he’d never admit it, Bruce was in love with Diana the moment she dropped out of the sky. Okay, maybe not in love, but it was pretty damn close. As she slowly descended to the ground her long, raven hair billowed behind her. Like a cape it emphasised her power and her regal stature. Her big, blue eyes luminous against the dark, starry sky.

Now, he may not have been in love at first sight, but that didn’t really last long. Even if he said never again, he couldn’t help it. Her boundless naivety and unwavering faith in humanity refused let him be anything other than hopelessly in love. It was infuriating. No matter how hard he tried to make himself unapproachable or harsh, she seemed to claw away his facade. He was lighter, he felt happier and he had heard plenty of lectures from Alfred to make him move.

Bruce approached Diana’s apartment door, the pastel yellow standing out against the grey of the corridor. Perfectly Diana; a ray of sunshine in a dark world.

He knocked on the door with his right hand, while his left hid behind his back. He wore his best suit, the suit he wore when they had danced together, but without the tie. She said he looked better without it anyway. He waited, then smiled when she opened the door. He could never tell when he stopped smirking, but he new it was because of her.

“Bruce, I wasn’t expecting you,” she purred with that thick Greek accent that never failed to pull him in.

“Diana, I was just -“

“Oh, hey Bruce,” Steve greeted, emerging from within the apartment. He came up behind Diana and wrapped his arms around her waist. It seemed their rollercoaster of a relationship was on again. “What’s up?”

“It ... doesn’t matter.”

“You sure?” Diana asked.

“Yeah. Have a nice afternoon.” Bruce turned away from the door and brought his left hand to his front. He walked down to hall, away from Diana and deposited the single sunflower - Diana’s favourite - into an empty plastic vase next to the elevator.

Bruce said never again.

**Clark**

Bruce blames himself for the third time his heart broke. He blames himself for making assumptions. But he couldn’t help it.

Clark had been his friend for a long time. So long, the world had a name for them: The World’s Finest.

Even though Bruce said never again, that he couldn’t fall for another, he couldn’t help but notice the way Clark’s aquamarine eyes lingered a tad longer on Bruce than anyone else. He couldn’t help but notice the way his heart felt like flying at the blinding and frequent sight of Clark’s brilliant pearl smile. He couldn’t help the gut-wrenching fear he felt each time Clark came face to face with Kryptonite. And, he couldn’t help every time a small smile appeared on his own face when Clark entered the room.

So, Bruce invited Clark to meet him at Metropolis Park. He tugged a large wicker picnic basket along with him at he climbed the crest of the small hill. He thought Clark might appreciate something traditional, cliche and cheesy. As he reached the top he saw Clark waiting on a bench, swiping through his phone. Before he could call to get the Man of Steel’s attention, Bruce watched as a petite woman with long auburn hair approached Clark and tapped him on the shoulder. Clark moved his attention to look at her, smiling brightly - the smile that made Bruce’s heart flip - and rose meeting her lips with a kiss.

Bruce turned around and headed back to his car.

Bruce said never again.

**Jason**

Bruce blames himself for the fourth time his heart broke. He blames himself for not being fast enough. But, even though he doesn’t believe it, he couldn’t help it.

Jason was the second Robin, a street rat, a kindred spirit, but most importantly Bruce’s son. As a result, Bruce has the unique ability to be able to sum up Jason’s life with a number of four word combinations:

Lively, exuberant, happier, hopeful;

Warehouse, Joker, crowbar, gone;

Cut way too short.

Bruce said never again.

**Selina**

Bruce blames himself for the fifth time his heart broke. He blames himself for still letting people in. But he couldn’t help it.

Bruce could have easily called Selina Kyle the love of his life. She was an elegant, blissfully confident thief masquerading as an arrogant socialite. She swanned in and out of Bruce’s life, breezing through like the wind, spending years as only an occasional fixture. She became more permanent a decade after they met.

When Jason died and he was swallowed by Batman, Selina brought him back to Bruce Wayne. And the relationship that grew on the rooftops and blossomed on them as well, came to end on a rooftop. On a clammy July morning, Bruce stood on the precipice of the the courthouse, gazing at the busy pedestrians below, flanked by Alfred and an inebriated judge.

They’d been waiting for five hours and the bride had yet to arrive.

With a weary, emotionless sigh, Bruce said, “She’s not coming.”

Bruce said never again.

**Laurel**

Laurel blindly trudged through her apartment door, nudging it closed with her foot. She dropped her satchel and long military-style coat beneath the coat hook rather than on it. She traipsed across the hardwood floor, narrowly missing the sharp corner of the kitchen counter and the arm of the sofa, through her modest, cosy bedroom and into the ensuite, momentarily blinded by the hot, white light. Having shifts that end up lasting 20 hours was a bitch.

She sighed as the soothing, warm water from the shower coated her delicately tanned skin. As she dried off, her usually perfectly wavy pixie cut fell slick against the crown of her head. She went back to her room and dressed in cotton shorts and a too old, too ragged band t-shirt from her university days. She turned on her bed-side light and got ready to settle in bed and finally finish her book. But was interrupted in her movements by a thundering crash outside. Jumping into panic mode, because who didn’t in Gotham? Laurel grabbed the first thing she could think of and leapt to attack the noise.

She burst into the living room and turned to the window that looked out into the city to find a cloaked figure laying flat on the fire escape.

“Oh, shit!” She shouted in shock, dropping the toilet brush in her hand, as she rushed to the window, heaving it open to climb out. The figure laid face up, cuts and bruises marring his face as half of his cowl swung limply beside him. “Fuck,” she breathed.

The figure wheezed as his chest inflated and deflated and spasmed slightly as his stomach clenched in pain.

Laurel tried to sooth him in a gentle voice, “Listen, I’m going to have to move you. I can’t treat you on the fire escape. This might hurt a bit.” She hooked her hand under his arms and gingerly began to move him through the window, carefully lowering him to the floor. She rose from her crouch and ran to the kitchen to find her first aid kit, rushing back a kneeling beside, who she assumed was, Batman. “I’m going to have to take your cowl off, okay. Right now, it’s doing more harm than good.” She prised the shattered helmet from his face and readied ointment and butterfly stitches to patch it up. As she gazed at his square jaw, pointed cheekbones and pained blue eyes she thought he could be very handsome if his face wasn’t purpling with persistent bruises.

She covered and cleaned all his facial wounds before moving on to the tear in the torso of the suit. She then surveyed the suit, muttering, “How do you get thing open?” Before, finding a clasp on the side, that was previously hidden by the cape. She pulled it open and the suit fell away, revealing a large gash across his abdomen and a peek at his near black back. Laurel cleaned the mean wound and a needle and began threading it closed, repeatedly checking that she could still hear his wheezing. When she had finished she headed to the closet and tugged out an air mattress and some blankets. She moved Batman closer to the couch and shut the window. She buried him in the blankets and then went to sit on the sofa, observing him through the night.

-

Bruce’s face felt warm. The early morning rays rested against his face and something soft shrouded him. Funny, he didn’t remember going home last night. A scuffing sound, that sounded like socks on tile, was close by. Alert, Bruce shot to sitting up, wincing and groaning as his stitches pulled tort against his skin. The scuffing stopped.

“Your up,” Laurel exclaimed but then moved closer to Bruce, “But you need to lay back down or you could pull your stitches.”

“Why do I have stitches?” Bruce asked drowsily.

“I stitched you up. You fell onto the fire escape outside my window. Scared the shit out of me really. Can I check your stitches?”

“Sure.” Laurel knelt next to him and lifted the blankets away from his chest.

She examined the wound and the bruising with her fingers, “Looks like you haven’t torn your stitches. How’s your head?”

“Feels like it’s on fire.”

“That would be the 18 cuts and big, old bruise.”

“Just around my mouth?”

“No, most are on your temple and the left side of your face.”

“How do you - Where’s my cowl?”

Laurel reached over Bruce to the table, bring both halves of the cowl with her, “I didn’t take it off. It kind of fell off. Anyway, is there something I could call you?”

Bruce looked up from the cowl to Laurel, stunned, “You don’t know who I am?” She shook her head. “I’m Bruce.”

“Nice to meet you, Bruce. I’m Laurel.” Bruce made to move off of the mattress, growling as fire shot through his chest. Laurel leapt in to take his weight on her shoulders and placed him on the sofa.

“I need to go.”

“No, you need to sit there and heal. Is there anyone I can call?”

“Yeah. Alfred.”

“What’s the number?” Bruce sat in embarrassed silence. “You don’t know your own phone number?” Bruce shook his head. Laurel snorted amusedly and flopped down next to Bruce. “What do you do to not have to know your own phone number?”

Bruce had a small smile appear on his face, “Where did you learn to do stitches so good?”

“I’m a doctor. Don’t act so surprised. I had just come off a 20 hour shift when your arse fell onto the fire escape.”

“You just don’t look old enough to be a doctor.”

“I moisturise a lot. You don’t look old enough to be covered in that many scars.”

“I’m reckless. A lot.”

Laurel snorted unattractively again.

-

There was a crisp knock at the door.

Laurel moved from the couch and left Bruce watching The Gray Ghost. Since Bruce couldn’t remember his phone number, Laurel said he could stay with her since she didn’t have another shift at the hospital for three days. While they wasted the day away, or rather while Laurel forced Bruce to sit and recover, they discovered each others love for sci-fi and in particular The Gray Ghost. They had spent the last three hours watching it.

She opened the door to reveal a slender older man with a polite smile, “Hello, Miss. My name’s Alfred Pennyworth. I was wondering if you had seen a young man with dark hair and blue eyes. He’s roughly 6’4”.”

“Alfred?” Bruce called from the sofa.

“So, there you are Master Wayne. Nice of you to inform me you would be away for the evening,” Alfred said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Master Wayne?” Laurel asked with a smirk, “Explains why you don’t know your phone number. Mr Pennyworth, how did you find Bruce.”

Suddenly, Alfred seemed unsure and closed off. He subtly referred to Bruce, receiving a nod in return. “The tracker in Master Wayne’s suit alerted me to his whereabouts when the emergency clasp was released on his suit. It did take a few hours to pinpoint his location, however.”

“Well, just so you know, Bruce has responded well to the painkillers I’ve given him and his stitches are healing nicely. Just need to make sure they don’t get wet.”

Alfred only nodded, seemingly unfazed by the state of Bruce, “I took the liberty of bringing you something to wear. I didn’t think it appropriate to walk the streets wearing the Batsuit.”

Bruce left, heading towards the bedroom to change out of the remnants of his suit and into the slacks and shirt Alfred provided. While he was away, Alfred turned to Laurel, “Thank you, Ms. Sometimes I think that boy looks for trouble.”

“I was only doing my job. Besides, anyone would have done the same had they been in my position.”

“I don’t think they would have.”

Bruce emerged from the bedroom looking more refreshed, cleaner. It only occurred to both him and Laurel at that moment, with Bruce dressed in a crisp white shirt, that he had spent the majority of the time they had known each other shirtless. While the two young adults wallowed in embarrassment, Alfred busied himself shoving the Batsuit into a duffle bag.

Laurel led the two men to the door, opening it and stepping aside to let them pass. Bruce turned, shoving his hands in his pockets. His facial bruises were already yellowing and the shallower cuts were slowly disappearing. “Thanks, for, um, fixing me up.”

She lent against the door frame, “No problem, just do want to have to do that again.”

“No, me neither,” Bruce huffed but still couldn’t shift his nervous edge.

“I won’t tell anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about. We can pinkie promise on it if that helps.”

They chuckled together.

“Thank you.”

“I’ll see you around, Bruce Wayne.”

As Laurel closed the door Alfred thought, ‘ _Here we go again._ ’

-

Laurel descended the steps of the hospital breathing a sigh of relief. It had been a mercifully short and panic-free shift. The worst call she dealt with was a nine-year-old boy with a toy soldier up his nose. She breathed deeply, using the ‘fresh’ (petrol-infused) Gotham air to clear out the scent of nauseating hospital bleach. She looked up, watching the flow of pedestrian traffic to see where she could cut in to it, somewhat missing the ruffling of her scrubs, to see an expensive sports car parked on the curb. A tall, dark-haired man with grey pebbling his temples lent against the front wing in a well-tailored suit.

Laurel approached him, “I almost didn’t recognise you without your nightwear.”

“I try not to make a habit of wearing it out.”

“Could’ve fooled me. What’re you doing here?”

“I wanted to take you out. A thank you for saving my life.”

“I meant, how did you find out where I worked? And you wouldn’t have died from that; no matter how dramatic you were being.”

“That’s my secret, Laurel Baxter,” he playfully raised an eyebrow, “Either way. What do you feel like?”

“There’s a burger place down the street.”

“Sounds good.”

Once they were seated at a slightly wobbly table and had received their food Bruce asked, “So, how come you didn’t know who I was?”

“Dent your ego that badly, huh?” She grinned.

“No. Just not many people don’t.”

“Well, first, I’m not from Gotham. Second, I tend not to pay attention to news, least of all celebrity gossip. It’s too depressing, unless it’s to do with medicine. But, after you left I did do a little digging.”

“What did you find out?”

“The maternity ward at my hospital is named after your mum, and it’s where you were born.”

“Anything else?”

“Plenty. But anything I could say you’ve probably already heard. So I’ll spare you.”

They sat and ate in comfortable silence until Bruce broke into a grin so wide and shit-eating that it lit up his entire face.

“What?” Laurel mumbled around a mouth full of burger, bacon and lettuce.

“You have ketchup on your nose,” Bruce revealed as he swiped the red sauce away from Laurel’s freckles with his thumb. “I want to ask you something, and feel free to say ’no’,” God knows he was used to it, “But, I was wondering if you might like to come to this gala with me?”

“Is this another thank you? Because if it is I’m going to need something else from you.”

“What do you need?”

“Is it another thank you?

“No.”

“A date then.”

“What?” Bruce questioned incredulously.

“A date, you dork. I like you. You’re funny, you’re handsome - even if half your face is purple - and you clearly have a good heart. You have to with what you put yourself through. And I also read about your charity work; you don’t have to visit those orphanages and hostels every month, but you do. Frankly, its criminal you’re single.”

Bruce gazed longingly at her kind smile and heard himself say, “A date, then. At the manor. Tomorrow?”

“Sounds great.”

And Bruce though, ‘I could do this again.’


End file.
